


Completely Unpredictable

by EmeraldOcean



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 11:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldOcean/pseuds/EmeraldOcean
Summary: “Newton?” That voice… Newt would recognize that voice anywhere. So the face he saw when the wizard’s wand tip suddenly lit up with the lumos spell was both no surprise and complete surprise at the same time. It was a very strange feeling. Though it was nothing compared to the feeling like that of swooping evil rattling around in his stomach when he looked up to see a familiar warm smile and set of twinkling blue eyes.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------The care of magical creatures may have been Newt Scamander’s number one priority in life, but in a seaside Scottish village one summer, the young magizoologist discovers that there’s room in his life, and his heart, for more than he could have ever imagined.





	Completely Unpredictable

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place sometime after Newt has left Hogwarts, but before the events of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

“Pickett, if you jump onto one of these trees right now, I may not be able to find you again. Not in the dark like this.” The little bowtruckle yipped and babbled, but Newt was quick to put an end to the creature’s adventurous whim. “It doesn’t matter if it’s the full moon, little one. There still isn’t enough light. You’ll end up lost and alone. Now is that really what you want?”

Pickett huffed in response and blew a raspberry toward Newt’s face, but he demurred from further complaint and resumed his comfy hiding spot inside Newt’s breast pocket, behind his left suspender. 

The little bowtruckle preferred to perch behind lapels, but the beginning of the summer holidays had brought with it an unexpected heat wave to the Scottish seaside village that Newt found himself just outside of, so the wizard had decided to leave his overcoat inside his suitcase. 

And he was very glad too. Because while the sea provided cool breezes to make the night air comfortable down in the village, Newt was a ways beyond – straddling between the edge of a wooded copse and the beginning of a farmer’s field of barley. The air wasn’t quite as forgiving there, and Newt could feel droplets of sweat making their way down the back of his neck already. 

Hiding behind a tree, Newt peeked out to look over the field just as the clouds parted to reveal the luminescence of the full moon. The shining orb shed its light down onto the field, and Newt felt an excited fluttering in his stomach as a small herd of mooncalves appeared as if out of nowhere. 

As the moon’s rays shone on, the quiet, diminutive creatures began their ritual dance – a sort of graceful choreographed ballet. If beasts of their stature could ever be called graceful, that is. Newt certainly thought they could. In fact, he thought they were mesmerizing. 

He watched for as long as he dared. After all, tonight he was on a mission. 

But just as he was leaning down to pick up his battered, old suitcase – ready to open it up and coax the mooncalves inside – Newt heard a slight commotion in the woods behind him and froze. 

Newt had been worried about this. He’d been warned by his contact in the town that the muggle farmer who owned this field was unusually clever, and as such was getting increasingly suspicious of the damage to his field every full moon. 

The wizard who had called and requested Newt’s help hadn’t wanted to risk getting involved – too afraid of the statute of secrecy to do more than hand the problem off to someone who cared more about the safety of the mooncalves than the safety of his own hide. 

The farmer was known to own several lethal, muggle weapons; and to have no qualms about using them. So Newt had been warned… but now that the time had come, he wasn’t so sure that he was quite prepared to handle it. 

“ _Hunker down, little one… This may get a bit rough,_ ” he whispered to his pocket while taking his wand out and beginning a silent stalk in the direction of the noise. 

Newt tried to be stealthy, he really did. But an unfortunate step on a dried twig gave away his position with a clearly heard _snap!_ and he barely managed to duck out of the way of the newcomer’s first attack. 

Beginning a zigzagging sprint in the direction of the unknown entity, it took Newt two more barely missed hits to realize that it was only the hits that he was hearing. He’d heard the sound of gunshots before – how could he not have during the war – but this night there were no gunshots to be heard. 

Taking up a position behind another tree, Newt took a deep breath, said a silent prayer to Helga Hufflepuff, and then stepped out to cast an expelliarmus spell. 

Newt was fast, but the other wizard was faster, and before he knew it, Newt’s wand was gone and he was defenseless. 

But that didn’t mean he was giving up. Not at all.

The wizard crept closer, and Newt made a split-second decision. Throwing caution to the wind, the young magizoologist did his best impression of a stampeding erumpent and charged directly toward his opponent with an enthusiastic battle cry. 

Fully expecting to be hit with at least a stunning spell, Newt was extremely surprised when his body collided with another, and the pair ended up on the damp ground, fighting for control of the unknown wizard’s wand.

“I will not let you harm them!” Newt said vehemently. 

The wizard beneath him stopped fighting for the space of two heartbeats, and then suddenly Newt found himself flipped around and pinned to the ground with his hands above his head. 

“Newton?” That voice… Newt would recognize that voice anywhere. So the face he saw when the wizard’s wand tip suddenly lit up with the lumos spell was both no surprise and complete surprise at the same time. It was a very strange feeling. Though it was nothing compared to the familiar feeling like that of swooping evil rattling around in his stomach when he saw the man’s face. 

“Professor Dumbledore? What are you doing here?” Panting and disheveled, both men merely stared until Newt licked his lips and squirmed, half-heartedly attempting to get out from under the older man. 

Dumbledore’s eyes flicked down to Newt’s mouth, and his hold on Newt’s wrists tightened briefly before he seemed to realize what he was doing and let go – rolling to the side and getting to his feet, and then reaching a hand down to help Newt up as well.

“I would ask you the same question, but after seeing that herd of mooncalves over there, I suspect I have my answer already,” Dumbledore said, straightening out his clothes and brushing dead leaves back down to the forest floor. “How are you, Newt dear?”

The endearment caught Newt by surprise, causing him to blush and avert his gaze to the ground. “I-I’m well,” he mumbled awkwardly. 

A quick check to make sure Pickett was still in his pocket and unharmed, gave him another excuse to keep his head down. And then he began the hopeless task of searching the ground for his lost wand. 

A deft flick of Dumbledore’s own wand brought Newt’s soaring through the air to land neatly in Dumbledore’s hand, and then Newt had no more excuses to avoid the man’s gaze. 

And it’s not that he didn’t _want_ to look at his old professor. It’s just that he feared if he began to look, he might not be able to stop. And that would be very embarrassing indeed. 

It was one thing to be an underage wizard staring adoringly at his very accomplished, very _handsome_ Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It was something else altogether to act that way now that he was a grown-up, fully-fledged wizard himself. Awkward wouldn’t even begin to cover it, he thought.

But Dumbledore was holding out Newt’s wand for the young wizard to take, so he couldn’t stall any longer. “Thank you,” he murmured, stepping closer. 

“You’re very welcome.” Their fingers brushed as Newt reclaimed his wand, and he wondered if Dumbledore had also felt a spark pass between them – that tingling warmth that trailed from the tips of his fingers, up his arm, to land gently in his chest, suspiciously close to his heart. 

“Are you here for the mooncalves as well, then?” Newt asked. He turned to look toward the field, where the alert little creatures appeared not to not care one bit about the wizards’ brief scuffle. 

“No, actually.” Newt tensed, feeling Dumbledore’s presence just behind his right shoulder. His heartbeat quickened and Newt wondered nervously if Dumbledore could hear it. “I’ve been tracking a demiguise that’s been causing trouble in the village.”

“A demiguise? Here?” Newt turned, surprised to hear that a creature native to the Far East was on the loose so far north. 

“Yes,” Dumbledore responded simply. “I believe he must have arrived here as a stowaway, and now he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.”

They walked back to where Newt had left his case and then stood shoulder-to-shoulder to watch the mooncalves continue their dance. 

Silence stretched on as the pair looked on in awe, but it wasn’t strange. Newt didn’t feel as if he had to fill the quiet with unnecessary small talk while he stood there with his old professor – not like he did with anyone else. 

But it had always been that way with Dumbledore. The man never pushed – never made Newt feel like his tendency to be quiet and thoughtful was wrong, or lesser in any way.

They could be quiet together and it was never strained. But the silence had to come to an end eventually, and this time it was Newt himself that broke it. 

“You said that the demiguise was in the village.” Dumbledore nodded. “Then what are you doing all the way out here… if you don’t mind me asking,” Newt added, staring at his shoes so that his gaze wouldn’t fix on Dumbledore’s forearms, where they were crossed over his chest. 

The man’s shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the muscles – pale, blond hair dusting strong, smooth skin – were just as mesmerizing as the mooncalves. 

“I’ve been tracking him between the village and this field,” Dumbledore said softly. “I couldn’t figure out what he was up to until tonight.” Dumbledore pointed his chin in the direction of the display in the field. 

“The demiguise is here for the mooncalves?” Newt asked, surprised. 

“I believe so,” Dumbledore responded. “He’s been raiding the storeroom of the local pub and bringing the food back to this field. I suspect he’s trying to be of help in feeding the mooncalves. But unfortunately for him, the wife of the pub’s owner is a witch who recognized the signs.”

“Oh, dear,” Newt said. 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore responded. “Her husband is a squib, so he knows just enough to be dangerous.” 

As a witch, the pub owner’s wife would be well aware that a demiguise’s pelt could be used to make invisibility cloaks – making the creature much sought after on the black market. The thought made Newt’s blood run cold, and he was almost ready to abandon the mooncalves in order to find and save the demiguise. 

Of course, that thought made Newt properly ashamed of himself, because the mooncalves were in just as much danger as the demiguise.

Lost in his thoughts, it wasn’t until Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Newt’s shoulder and squeezed that he realized the man had spoken again.

“So what do you say, my friend,” Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eye. “We’re in the presence of some exceptional creatures this night… Would you care to join me on a rescue mission?”

Newt hesitated, gazing upon the field once more in contemplation.

“We would begin with the mooncalves, of course,” Dumbledore added. And it came as no surprise to Newt that the man would know the exact right thing to say to put him at ease. 

“I believe I would like that very much, professor,” Newt said, bending down to retrieve his case. 

Dumbledore beat him to it though – picking up the case and handing it over with a smile. “Please, Newt… We’re not at Hogwarts anymore. Call me Albus.”

Newt nodded, responding with a shy smile of his own before reaching into his trouser pocket to pull out a small pouch. 

“Follow me,” he entreated, feeling a thrill at being the leader for once. 

Dumbledore followed without complaint, keeping two steps behind as Newt led the way to a small rise in the field where all of the mooncalves would be able to see them. 

“What is your plan?” Dumbledore whispered. The beasts had taken notice of the wizards and halted as one, looking unsure whether to come closer or to run away. 

Instead of answering with words, Newt placed his case upon the ground at their feet and opened it, revealing its untold depths to his astonished mentor. 

“And undetectable extension charm?!” Dumbledore exclaimed softly, yet also quite excitedly. 

Newt simply nodded and smiled. And then with a distinctive _whoop!_ to attract the mooncalves’ attention, Newt pulled a handful of pellets out of the pouch and tossed them into the air.

The mooncalves crowded close, jockeying for position in order to catch the tasty treats. There wasn’t enough for all of them though, so a few intrepid souls bounded closer, hoping to receive a hand-out of their own. 

Newt coaxed the first mooncalf closer and tossed a single pellet into the air directly above his open case. The creature leapt to catch it and landed exactly where Newt wanted her to – right down into the case. 

And he wasn’t worried about the length of the fall. Because of their ability to subtly defy gravity, Newt knew that the mooncalves would be perfectly safe.

“That’s brilliant!” Newt couldn’t help but smile – Dumbledore’s heartfelt exclamation warmed Newt’s already overheated body, and he tried not to drop the pellet bag in his enthusiasm. 

One after another, the mooncalves lined up and leapt right into the case. Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head in amusement as the last made its way inside. 

Newt felt an immense sense of pride as he watched the very last mooncalf make its way into the case. “I’ve got to go inside and get them settled,” he said, stowing the pellet pouch. “Would you like to join me… Albus?”

The name felt strange on his tongue, but Dumbledore’s answering smile worked like magic to make Newt feel at ease once more. 

“It would be my honor,” Dumbledore answered.

Again, Newt led the way, climbing down into the case’s first, and original, space – Newt’s workroom. “Close the lid behind you, if you would, please,” he called above him, just as Dumbledore began to descend. 

The mooncalves had already begun to wander out of the workroom through the door that Newt had left open for that exact reason.

“I’ve already prepared a space for them,” Newt mentioned. “It shouldn’t be difficult to lead them to it.”

“May I?” Dumbledore asked, pointing to Newt’s hand where he was once more holding the pouch full of pellets. 

“Yes, of course.” Newt handed over the pouch, and then began walking in the direction of the grass-covered, rocky outcrop that he had charmed into being the day before. Once in view, the mooncalves couldn’t help but be drawn to it – the shining full moon that Newt had added was more than enough inducement, even if they weren’t still being enticed by Dumbledore and the pellet pouch. 

It didn’t take long, and soon the creatures were all positioned beneath the charmed moon where they resumed their dance in synchronization. 

“This place is truly magnificent, Newt.” Newt tore his eyes away from the mooncalves to look at Dumbledore, surprised to see the shine of tears in the older man’s eyes. 

Following Dumbledore’s astonished gaze, Newt took in the view of the various different enclosures that could be seen from where they stood. 

He supposed it was quite impressive, if he did say so himself – and it appeared as though Dumbledore agreed. 

“Beautiful, Newt, dear… absolutely beautiful.” When Newt looked back, the tears had been wiped away and Dumbledore was looking at him instead. 

It was a look that Newt had been on the receiving end of a handful of times before, and he was never quite sure what it meant. But he did know that it made him feel monstrously happy.

“Would you like a tour?” Newt offered. 

“I would… very much.” Dumbledore smiled. “But I believe that we should focus our attentions on the demiguise first. I’m worried about his safety.” 

“Yes, of course… absolutely. You’re right.” Newt couldn’t help his awkward babbling. “Let me just…” Newt made his way to the tree where the bowtruckles lived, and dipped his hand into his vest to retrieve his little friend. “Now, Pickett… you’ll have to stay here. I’m going into a situation that might get a bit dangerous, and I wouldn’t want you harmed.” 

Pickett tried to cling onto Newt’s fingers as the wizard lowered him down onto a branch. The little guy was very much a loner – not wanting to interact with others of his kind if he didn’t have to – but this situation was unsure, and Newt thought it best for Pickett’s well-being for him to spend time with the other bowtruckles as often as possible. 

“Nope… no… you must stay here, Pickett. I know you’d rather not, but I’m not going to budge this time.” Pickett sulked, but did what was asked of him eventually, and Newt breathed a sigh of relief to know that his little friend would be safe. 

“I know this isn’t the first time that I’ve said this, Newt… but you’re very good with them… the creatures. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever known a witch or wizard who had a better natural talent when it comes to magical creatures.”

Newt felt heat creep up the back of his neck, and he knew it had nothing to do with the temperature of the air. He wasn’t used to being praised by most people in his life. But Dumbledore was different. He seemed to truly see Newt in a way that no one else had ever done. And Newt liked it very much, even though he didn’t really know how to react.

Therefore he ended up giving a small, self-deprecating shrug and started walking back toward his workshop. He only managed one step though before he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. 

Expecting it to be Pickett trying once more to tag along, Newt was surprised when he turned around and saw that it was Dumbledore that was trying to get his attention.

“I mean it, Newt… The way you are with them – how they react to you – it’s wonderful. Everything you’ve already accomplished… you should be very proud of yourself. I know that I am very proud of you.”

Newt knew that “Thank you” would probably be appropriate here, but the words got stuck in his throat. He probably would have been able to manage it, but the feel of Dumbledore’s warm hand on his bicep left the young wizard tingling all over, and it was difficult to do anything more than focus on that feeling and try not to do something silly – like swooning, for example. If he didn’t know any better, Newt would have thought that he’d been hit by a jelly-leg jinx. 

The moment stretched on while Newt tried, and failed, to get his voice to cooperate with his brain. And it wasn’t until he felt something nudge his hip that he even remembered that there was a world outside the tiny bubble of space between himself and Dumbledore. 

Looking down, Newt saw that it was one of the mooncalves – gazing up at him with a look that was equal parts hope and adoration. And he abruptly realized that it was probably the same look that he had on his own face when he was gazing at Dumbledore. 

The thought shocked Newt into movement. He ushered the little darling (perhaps Elsie would be a good name for her) back to her friends, and then reminded himself that there was a demiguise out there somewhere who may come to harm if he didn’t reel in his troublesome emotions and focus on the mission. 

“Shall we?” he queried, trying not to look at Dumbledore again, so as not to be distracted once more. 

“Of course,” Dumbledore responded, following Newt back toward the exit. “We’ll have plenty of time for catching up later.” 

Newt halted in his ascent up the ladder, swallowing nervously at the prospect. “Yes,” he said in an undertone, speaking mostly to himself. “I suppose we shall.”


End file.
